


The Bear of Atmora

by LesbianofSteel



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Gen, Solstheim
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-10-20 15:50:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17625275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LesbianofSteel/pseuds/LesbianofSteel
Summary: War is a constant in Nirn. Though the Great War with the Dominion has ended, thousands still bare the scars. Tamriel is broken, and Skyrim is on the brink of another war. But, for Amber, nothing has changed. She has tried to distance herself from war, and all it's trappings, but she can't escape her past. Her past is Tamriel, and there is no way to escape it.





	1. Chapter 1

The memories of men are, in the kindest of words, flawed. They remember things different then mer do, and far different then the beast-folk do. They remember the battles, but rarely those who fought them. They remember their struggles, but not why they struggled. They remember their enemies, but they don't remember who they were before they became enemies. Men have always remembered what is convenient to them, what pains the mind least, or what drives them forward fastest. Very rarely do you see men stop and wonder, what is life like for my enemy? Do they too have a home like I? Under siege, under threat? Men think of, and remember, what benefits them, what justifies their actions, and nothing more. That is why I know that war will never end amongst men. Because the enemy is the enemy, and war is just war.  
-The Five Hundredth Companion

The snow fell silently over a long stretch of ice and rock, the same as it did every day. Amber watched the seas as the snow fell, letting it settle on her, just as it settled on the earth around her. Occasionally, she would brush some off her hair and shoulders, but remained unphased by it all. She sat on her perch by the sea, staring out across it, beyond where all seemed to fade away into the mist. The ice that had taken Atmora was slowly taking the sea as well, each year the icebergs seemed to grow larger and closer. And between the mist and the ice, she knew countless other dangers lurked between them. The Sea-Ghosts that claimed Yngol, all manner of sea beast, but perhaps what troubled her most, was the chance of finding another person. Or atleast, what might have been another person. The journey was simply too dangerous, even for her. And even if she managed the trip, boat intact, what would she find? Frozen cities, empty homes, and ice. No, she knew in her heart, that Atmora was gone.

As the tides slowly began to shift and come in, she finally shifted, once again dusting the snow off of herself, and stood to face the sea one last time. She felt her her heart sink, and she turned, lumbering through the snow, back towards her home above, off in the cliffs of ice. She knew the path well, she made this journey so often, there was practically a trail beaten into the ground. Habit dictated most of her days of late, with trips to the coast being paramount among them. Here and there, other paths trailed off, one away to the nearest village, another up to the peaks, and a third off to a nearby spring where she drew fresh water from. There was very little to want for, with most of her needs being little more than food, water, and wood for a her fire. She was living in the way of the ancients, in some form of harmony with Kyne. As she trudged through the snow, her heavy armor faintly clanking against itself, briefly breaking the silence and stillness of the snow. She shut her eyes, and slowed herself, letting the stillness return, as she casually reached for her crescent axe, resting on her back. She turned, facing a seemingly empty forest, and gently called out into the woods.

"I don't know who paid you to find me.. But I can assure you, your lives will be worth more to you then any sum of gold. Turn back now, and you can still leave with it."

Silence answered back to her, and for once, she briefly assumed her age was finally catching up with her. But, as she scanned the snowy forest, a brief imprint in the snow shifted faintly, and an arrow struck her armor flat in the chest, shattering on impact. She lept into action rushing the spot she had seen shift, swiping with her axe. Where the axe should have simply cleaved air, instead the snow splashed red, and a figure, clad in darkened chitin armor, appeared. They let out a cry briefly, dropping their bow, and clutching the axe now buried deep in their gut, gasping for air, before they turned their helmeted head to face her. She towered above them, at least double her would be assassins height. She sighed, and kneeled down, tugging off their helmet, revealing a terrified Dunmer women, struggling to breath. She shut her eyes, and spoke to her again, softly, like a mother comforting a child. Her voice was filled with regret, and felt pained as she spoke.

"... I'm sorry it ended this way. You left me little choice, but I don't blame you for what you did, child. You didn't know better. You only knew what your masters told you."  
The woman shook, still grasping at the axe wound, tears running down her face, blood occasionally bubbling up as she panted. She spoke between gasps and chokes, fading away quickly.

"More will come for you, Outlander. This ain't your island anymore. The price on your head is enough to buy this whole rotten place out from under Redoran thrice over. Somebody has hired the Morag Tong. Your days… Are numbered." She spat out, her words laced with venom, but backed only by fear. Amber shut her eyes, and gripped the axe tightly, before uttering to her again softly.

"I am sorry that you cling to this in your last moments. I will see that your remains are honored properly, so that you may join your ancestors." And with that, she hammered her the axe further into her, with a sickening crack, and the Morag Tong assassin let out a final scream, before the stillness of the forest finally returned. She pulled the axe away, returning it to its place on her back, and carefully hoisted the limp assassin over her shoulder, making her way back to the path. She trudged back up the path, her armor slowly getting stained red, a trail of blood left behind her in the snow, as she slowly made her way towards the peaks of the island, towards the only town nearby that would take her corpse. Ravenrock.


	2. Sweep the Slate Clean

She arrived just as the sun had begun to set, still shouldering the corpse of the assassin, her blood having frozen to her furs and armor, staining the well worn quicksilver to a dirty muddled brown and red where it stuck. She didn’t frequent the settlement, the walk wasn’t worth the drama and woes of the resident House Redoran. They only needed things from her whenever she made a rare trip out, or they would hassle her, assuming she was an agent of some other house. The Dunmer were, and always had been a paranoid people, perhaps with good reason. But bringing them a dead Morag Tong might put the newest council at ease with her. She stomped her way through the ash choked Bulwark, ignoring the hushed murmurs of the guardsmen manning the gates, and made her way to the temple. Her approach was halted however, by a very brave Dunmer Priest.   
“No! I will not let you foul our temple again! You are not welcome in our place of worship after the slander you have spoke of the True Tribunal!” barked out the attendant, staunchly standing in front of the doorway, attempting to block her progress with his body alone. A few guards stopped and turned to watch, exchanging glances and keeping their hands clear from their swords. Amber lifted her free arm, and placed it on the shoulder of the attendant, who was now starting to look far less brave, and stared him down.   
“Then I suppose you would rather I have left this poor sod where I slew her? Let the wolves and trolls feed upon her where she died? Perhaps I should have tossed her body to the Rieklings, and let them pillage what they will from her body? I thought you Dunmer had respect for your dead. I suggest you move aside before I move you myself.”  
The shaken elf looked to the guards, who both turned and started to walk away, resuming their starting night watch, before quickly side stepping out of her grip. A faint smile passed through her face, before she pushed the doors open, and ducked to enter the temple.   
The temple was dimly lit by candle, most of which were clustered around the shrines of the daedra that made up the “True Tribunal” as they were now called. She made her way towards the center, glancing around, before spotting the Elder in charge of the Temple, knelt before the Shrine of Azura. She cleared her throat, and began to approach him/  
“Forgive my intrusion, but I have a body that is in need of consecration.”  
The Elder turned, sighing, before looking at her. They had met several times before, and each meeting had been as pleasant as wrestling with a Grahl. The Priest was an Ashlander, and had all the manners of one, with all the guile of a member of the Tribunal. He gestured to the ground, and she complied, dropping the corpse at his feet, brushing the frozen blood off of her.   
“Yes yes, just leave the body there. I do thank you for going through the trouble of bring it here… Despite our disagreements. She will join her ancestors soon enough.” He waved her away, inspecting the corpse. She watched him for a moment, before breaking the silence.  
“You're not the slightest bit bothered by me bringing a Morag Tong member in here? The last time I visited this sad little port your people insisted I was an acting agent of another house, here to assassinate Councilor Morvayn.”  
“And clearly we were wrong. But no, this is of no concern to Raven Rock or her people. This woman was sent to kill you, not to kill anyone here. As such, it is not our problem, it’s yours. Now, if you don’t mind, I suggest you leave and keep your troubles to yourself.” Again, he gestured for her to leave.   
“Funny, everytime I come to this miserable town, you and your people always seem to try and involve me in your troubles.” She turned to leave, ignoring the scoffing and muttered curses, pushing the door open, and emerging back into the frozen night soaked plaza. Men and Mer never change. Always expecting something for nothing, but always aghast when their expectations are returned to them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long gaps between adding chapters. Things have been difficult. Hopefully I can turn things around and get back in gear to write some more.

**Author's Note:**

> hnnnnnnnnnnnnnnngggg..... Amber Strong. And big.  
> Also if you couldn't tell, this takes place in Solstheim. Though a date isn't given, this is a little before the events of Dragonborn take place, and no structures to Miraak have been built.... Yet.


End file.
